


like a hero on a history book page

by kathillards



Category: Power Rangers, Power Rangers Mystic Force, Power Rangers Ninja Steel
Genre: Gen, the ninja steel/mystic force crossover we deserve
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-15
Updated: 2017-02-15
Packaged: 2018-09-24 13:37:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,959
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9740339
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kathillards/pseuds/kathillards
Summary: At age five, Preston goes to a magic show in a little town where the locals claim monsters are alive and walking among them, and he’s never been more sure that magic is real.(Preston Tien has always known he could be something special.)





	

**Author's Note:**

> alternate fic title: pearl throws mystic force and ninja steel mythos into a blender and makes a smoothie :)
> 
> fair warning, none of the other ninja steel rangers are in this as it details preston's childhood. also nick doesn't exactly show up but that's because he's a recluse. shoutout to tabby for helping me come up with ideas, including the name of nick's niece (his adopted sister's daughter) who does show up here, and also for being generally encouraging <3
> 
> anyway, it's weird. i have no excuses, i just love preston and magic.

**like a hero on a history book page**

_bring on all the pretenders  
one day, we will be remembered_

—taylor swift, long live

-:-

Preston Tien has always known he could be something special.

It’s not just the dragon bracelet, or the ace of spades he keeps in his sleeve, or even the top hat where his bunny sleeps. It’s not the fact that he grew up in a big house with a nanny who smoked too many cigarettes to be around a child or the perpetually empty family room where his parents should have watched television and laughed with him.

It’s not even, although this comes much later, the fortitude of his character which called a ninja star to him.

At age five, he goes to a magic show in a little town where the locals claim monsters are alive and walking among them, and he’s never been more sure that magic is real.

-:-

Briarwood, says the teenage girl who gives his parents direction to the magic show, it’s right off the highway, twenty minutes away from here. _That’s_ where the magic comes from.

Preston stares, wide-eyed and hopeful, into the distance. His mother fakes a polite smile and gently guides him away from the girl with her pink bubblegum and her too-bright earrings shaped like dragons.

Magic, he comes to learn, bleeds. It spills over like a leaky faucet, bursting from one point of contact between the otherworld and the real world, and spreads out like a spider web, entangling anyone who comes too close.

Preston wants to be too close, wants it more than he’s ever wanted anything.

The magician says they call him the Knight of Lightning, in the Land Beyond the Trees, where magic lurks around every corner and monsters draw battle lines in the forest floor. Preston doesn’t know what these words mean, but the audience gasps at the right moments, and so he does, too.

He likes the magician, this Knight of Lightning, who has red hair and a kind smile, who points his wand at Preston and lifts him three feet in the air before depositing him back into his mother’s lap. He pulls out a small glass figurine of a dragon, enchants it to fly circles around the audience’s heads, and in the end, makes a dragon bracelet appear on Preston’s wrist which stays even when the show is over.

Afterwards, Preston bounces up to the stage, beaming. “I’m gonna be a magician just like you!”

“Yeah?” The Knight kneels down to look him in the eye and says, very solemnly, “You have chosen a long and winding path, my friend.”

 _My friend._ Preston blinks at him. He’s never been anyone’s friend before.

“But it’ll be worth it,” says the Knight, smiling. “When you become a magician, come visit me, okay?”

“Okay,” Preston agrees, before his mother is scooping him and hustling him back to the car for the long road trip to their newest too-large, too-empty home in a town they’ll leave in five years, anyway.

-:-

He forgets about the points of contact, the portals between the otherworld and his world, too young to really understand what it means when he’s alone in the park and the winds start racing too fast through the leaves. Too old to believe that monsters are real, too young to know that they are.

But he doesn’t forget about magic.

At eight, he’s visiting his aunt in Angel Grove and it takes him two days of needling to get her to take him downtown to a little store called Zipperini’s Magic Medley, which sells all the tricks he’s always wanted to learn.

She grumbles about it being a waste of time, but gives him fifty dollars and tells him to go wild. He’s just perusing the various card decks, debating which one would be the coolest, when a man in a bright green store vest comes up behind the counter.

“Looking for something special, kid?” he asks, his accent crisp and full of an understanding smile, and Preston’s heart feels a little lighter when he looks up at this man. His name tag reads ‘The Minotaur’.

“I’m studying magic,” Preston says proudly. “I need my own card deck.”

“That you do,” he says, and plops a box full of card decks on the counter in between them. “Me, I always liked the new ones, with the modern designs, but I got a friend back home who says only the old, classic ones have any real magic spirit in them. I think she’s crazy, but what are you gonna do?”

“Um,” Preston says, uncertain. “A new one?”

“Try this,” says the worker – the Minotaur – with a smile, and tosses him a gently-worn card deck. “Comes straight from Briarwood. You know, they say magic grew out of the forest there.”

“I know,” Preston says, a little longingly. His parents had never let him go to Briarwood proper, insisting that they had better things to do than chase fairytales all day. “My aunt says Angel Grove has magic, too. _Real_ magic not… silly card tricks.”

“Hey,” says the Minotaur firmly, moving the box aside to look Preston in the eyes. “There’s nothing silly about card tricks. Only the smartest of magicians can pull off a good sleight of hand. Real magic is about belief, that’s all. Do you believe in your cards?”

Preston looks down at the deck in his hands. The ace of spades looks up at him, elegantly-drawn vines twisting around the shapes on the face of the card.

“Yes,” he says, half unsure and half completely confident. “I believe in my cards.”

“Then that’s all you need,” the man says, flashing him a smile and a wink. “Tell you what, buy something else and I’ll give you the card deck on the house. Least I can do for a growing magician like you.”

“Cool,” Preston grins, and he buys his first wand there. Later that night, he shuffles the cards and for a second, out of the corner of his eye, he swears he sees the vines moving on the ace of spades.

-:-

One thing he doesn’t learn for too long is that magic lives in hearts, in touches and smiles, a card deck passed from magician to magician, a gift from a knight, a promise from a princess. From the old stories to the new ones, magic is nurtured by emotions – love, anger, grief, and joy.

Never apathy. In seventh grade, he likes a boy who tells him that magic is stupid and for just long enough, his heart splinters and shuts.

His cards start falling more often than not. His rabbit escapes from the hat, the scarves never go quite as long as he needs them to go. If magic is about belief, then Preston has forgotten how to believe.

His parents throw a party. In theory, it’s his birthday party, but he doesn’t have enough friends to go to the bowling alley or mini golf or even the pizza parlor, so his parents invite over their friends instead and promise him lots of expensive gifts. It doesn’t really make up for anything.

He’s sitting alone in his bedroom, staring despondently at that ace of spades that refuses to be slide out of his sleeve when he needs it to, when there’s a knock on the door.

“Hey, are you the birthday boy?” asks a woman standing on the other side of his bedroom, her hair bright pink and spiked up, her smile nonetheless warm. She reminds him irresistibly  of the girl from the town that wasn’t Briarwood who spoke of magic like it was real, although she is far older and wearing headphones around her neck instead of dragon earrings.

“Who are you?” Preston asks suspiciously, shoving his cards to the side. Nobody had bothered him yet; most people wouldn’t even ask where the guest of honor was, he knew, because his parents were just such engaging hosts.

“I’m the DJ,” she says, cocking an eyebrow. “You can call me V. I’m supposed to play your favorite song but you’re not downstairs for me to do it.”

“I don’t have a favorite song,” he says, petulant.

“Mm,” V says, and turns her head to look around. His walls are decorated with posters of magicians and magic tricks, his own doodles of dragons taking flight over castles and forests, and one that’s just a silhouette with the words ‘The Knight of Lightning’ scrawled on top in vibrant yellow.

“You into magic?”

Preston frowns at her. “No.”

“Are you sure? I have some great songs about magic in my playlists,” she wheedles.

“Magic is stupid,” he says, but even the words sit sour on his tongue. Magic isn’t stupid, can’t be stupid, how could he ever think it was stupid when she’s smiling at him like she _knows_ – she knows.

“Come on, kid,” she says with a laugh, gesturing to the hallway outside. “Magic is everywhere around you. All you have to do is open your eyes and look.”

She leaves him alone, but he only takes a few minutes before hopping off his bed and following her path down to the living room where the guests are milling about, enjoying their food and forgetting about him.

That’s not what’s important, though. DJ V catches his eye and grins as she starts playing a song about magic, and for one afternoon, Preston finds himself believing her.

Magic bleeds, after all. Spills from her songs into his heart and mind and soul, and the next time he picks up a card deck, he forgets about what the boy said, what anyone else says, and takes a deep breath. Magic is real, magic has to be real.

Magic matters too much to him not to be real.

-:-

For all the years he’s spent practicing  magic, he’s never met another kid who believes in it quite as much as he does, never found anyone to be fascinated by his tricks and sleights of hand. He takes to going with his mother to visit her friends around the county, hoping to find that one of them has a child who will understand him.

He finds what he’s looking for, but not in the way that he expects.

But then again, magic has never really worked in the way that he expects.

She’s nine years old, bright-eyed and too-talkative, with a wild mane of curls that gets everywhere when she zips around the house, dragging him wherever she wants to go. He stumbles along, only half annoyed, as their mothers drink tea in the parlor room and leave their kids to their own amusements.

“What’s your name?” she asks him, sitting down on the purple beanbag chair in the play room. “Mine’s ‘Storia.”

“Storia?” Preston repeats, brow furrowing. “You mean Astoria?”

“You can call me Story,” she says with a smile.

“I’m Preston,” he says, nonplussed. “Do you wanna see a magic trick?”

“Okay,” Story says, clapping her hands. “My uncle’s a magician!”

Preston draws his card deck out and faces her. “Pick a card, then put it back. Don’t tell me what it is.”

Story plucks the ace of spades from the center of the desk. At least, he hopes she did. When she slides it back, he shuffles through them, then reaches forward and pulls the card out from behind her ear.

“Is this your card?” he asks, and can’t contain his delight when she squeals and beams at him.

“Yes!” she gasps. “How’d you do that? My uncle can’t do that, Mommy says he shouldn’t do his tricks around me because all of his are fire tricks.”

Preston shrugs. “A magician never reveals his secrets,” he quotes at her, smiling. “What kind of fire tricks does your uncle do?”

“I dunno,” Story says, frowning a little. “He won’t show me. Mommy says it’s because he was the most powerful magician in the Land Beyond the Trees. _His_ mommy was the Snow Witch, and his dad was a cursed warrior, and that’s why Uncle Nick is so special. She says I’m special just like him.”

Preston stares at her, mind whirling. “The Land Beyond the Trees? You mean in Briarwood?”

“Yeah, that’s where he’s from,” Story nods. “You should go to Briarwood. It’s full of magic.”

His heart thumps. “I’ve heard the stories.”

Story beams at him. “That’s me!” she agrees. “Mommy says I should tell stories, like Aunt Madi does. She lives in Briarwood, too, with Uncle Nick and Aunt V and – ”

She breaks off as the door opens and her mother looks in on the two of them with a smile. “You kids want some lunch?”

Preston is two steps slow behind Story as she races out the door for lunch, his mind lingering on the ace of spades and the Land Beyond the Trees and the town full of secrets and magic and the Knight of Lightning and so much more – so many stories where magic is real and living and breathing and _alive_.

He has to get to Briarwood, he decides. One day, somehow, some way, he needs to see the town of magic for himself.

-:-

It takes years, because, if there’s one thing he didn’t know about magic that he does now, it’s that magic is patient, and slow, and works at its own pace. He can’t master a card trick in one day, he can’t change himself into a dragon overnight, and Briarwood is an endpoint to a journey he’s still on.

He’s seventeen when it happens. The locals say, go to the music store if you’re looking for magic, and it doesn’t make sense, but he follows their lead, anyway. The Rock Porium is bright and bustling and normal-looking, but the minute he steps inside, he feels the hum, the buzz in the air, the magic simmering just beneath his skin, the atmosphere tingling like it knows secrets he wants to learn.

“Excuse me,” he says to the man behind the cash register, “I’m looking for the power rangers.”

The man’s eyes narrow. “Why? They don’t do interviews anymore.”

“Oh, no, I’m not,” Preston pauses, struggling for words. “I’m not a journalist. I just heard – I’m just here to – ”

The truth escapes him. Why _is_ he here? He’s done so much since he met the Knight of Lightning all those years ago. The prism, the star, the aliens, the ninja steel – he’s so much more than a boy doing card tricks on the sidewalk to an unenthusiastic audience. So much more than the boy making his own dragon costume because his parents are out late and he has nothing else to do.

So much more, than just a boy who believes in magic. He knows real magic now, real danger and real power.

And yet here he is, seventeen and still feeling like he’s five. Briarwood is so much more than he thought it would be, so much everything and nothing like his fantasies all at once.

“Preston?” comes a voice from behind him, half-familiar and half-unknown, and he turns.

She’s wearing blue, which is how he knows, but even if she wasn’t, he could have guessed by her smile and the look in her eyes and how she holds herself, the same way Hayley and Sarah do, with the quiet strength that comes from fighting and winning a war.

“How do you know my name?” he blurts out, which is a stupid question, in hindsight. Of course she knows his name. She’s magic. And she’s _blue_.

“We keep tabs on you guys,” she says with a laugh, moving forward and steering him away from the cashier. “I’ll be back later, Toby, don’t worry about this one. I need to show him around.”

Preston lets her guide him out into the warm misty sunlight, where people who look like monsters and monsters who look like people mill around on the streets, laughing and playing with each other in harmony. He feels a little dazed, lost in the ebb and flow of the magic all around him, the magic that clings to her skin and shines in her eyes, how she is so effortlessly part of this town, a protector, a warrior, a witch from the Land Beyond the Trees.

He doesn’t know what to say, but she doesn’t seem to expect him to.

“You know, I’ve been waiting a very long time for you to get here, Preston,” she tells him, her laughter kind rather than cutting. “I have some friends who’ve been waiting even longer.”

“You mean…” His heart starts to beat triple time. “The Knight of Lightning? He’s here?”

She laughs and starts walking away from the heart of the town and towards the edge of the forest. “Is that what he’s calling himself these days? Around here, we just call him Chip.”

“Right,” Preston says, wiping his palms on his jeans, oddly sweaty all of a sudden. “You guys were really the Mystic Force rangers?”

“The one and only,” she smiles. “You can call me Madi. Are you ready to enter the forest, Preston?”

He doesn’t know if he’s ever actually going to be ready, but he nods anyway, because he has nothing if not his bravery and the ninja star didn’t choose him for him to back out now. Madi smiles, lifts her hand, and pushes it against the tree.

Briarwood melts away. And then, in a sudden burst of light, he’s standing in the Land Beyond the Trees, and it feels like everything, absolutely everything, is real in every way that it’s possible for magic to be real.

Preston takes a deep breath and murmurs, “I believe in magic.”

But it’s the first time he’s ever understood just how much magic believes in _him_.


End file.
